Of Love and Lies
by Arwana13
Summary: Despite being surrounded by magic, I refuse to believe in fairy tales. I wonder then, would you believe me if I told you that I fell in love with you at first sight? My first time writing FrUk. Hope you like it!


_**I DO NOT OWN HETALIA.**_

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Dearest Francis,

I don't know if I ever said this when I was younger, but…I love you.

I know that this sentence seems unlikely. After all, we've been enemies for so long. But I really, truly, honestly love you. I have for many centuries. I love you for your compassion, your strength, your kindness. I loved you when you hurt me, when you tore my world apart and made me choke on its pieces. England will never admit to feeling a shred of guilt for what it has done to France, but Arthur Kirkland will never forgive himself for the pain he has made Francis Bonnefoy feel.

Oh, Francis, can't you see? I am so sorry. The apology will never make its way out of my mouth, but will forever echo in my head.

I am sorry for all the wars. For all the soldiers whose lives I have claimed. All the families I have torn apart. For all your kings and queens, your princes and princess who have met their death by my blade.

But most of all, I am sorry for _her_.

I tried, Francis, believe me, I tried so _hard_, to keep her alive. I knew what she meant to you. You first and only love, is that not right? Even though the idea of your love going to anyone else made me feel like dying, _I tried_.

But it was not enough.

You of all people know how we immortals are bound. Bound to the chains of time. Bound to hatred. Bound to greed and anger. Bound to stupid little mortals, who are so full of sin, that sometimes I wonder how they get up each morning.

For my insolence, for my…_treachery_, I was given the order to burn her alive. It was an order that I could not disobey.

And even then I tried. To ease her passing, to ensure that she does not feel pain. That was why I wrote that letter Francis, that was why I asked you to come. Not to torment you, but to give her strength, to give her closure, to give her the happiness of seeing her beloved one last time. Even though, I know that you would not forgive me, I knew that if she suffered, I would never forgive myself.

The sword that you had buried in my stomach the next month did not hurt as much as your cries upon seeing her die. As much as the hatred in your eyes when you did it.

But even then my sins did not stop did they? For even after ripping you away from the one you loved and knowing how much that hurt you, I then took away the only thing that made you happy in centuries. Your _petit ange. _

Actually, Canada was the only reason I ever really hated you. The boy loved you. He probably still does. The way you labeled him, a frozen barren wasteland, oh, it shattered his heart. I remember standing there and listening to the child cry out to you and you, you were walking away as though he meant _nothing._ In that moment, I loathed you. I swore then to that lonely child, that things would change.

But they didn't.

I reached home and America came. He ran out and hugged me and smiled, and, predictably, Canada was forgotten. Oh, how I wish I could go to the past and hit myself on the head. For all my promises, I treated him horribly. But that child…you don't know how much he resembles you Francis.

I stole your child, so you stole mine. The moment you chose to help America on that battlefield…Matthew hated you. But I couldn't. I could never hate you. Not even when you stood back and helped Alfred tear my heart out. You never said a word, never lifted your weapon on that battlefield. But your eyes…oh, your eyes, cold as the eternal fire, how they haunted me for days afterward!

Proof that Matthew was your child came soon afterward when my nightmares robbed me of the ability of sleep. I remember now, how that precious, precious child held me, tired as he was, singing away those soft lullabies that you used to sing to me when I was still your _petit lapin_, even though he himself was hurting, having lost the only person he ever trusted and _loved. _It surprises me even today, how _pure_ that child is, despite having been trampled on so many times. In our misery of loving two stars who were so out of our reach, we found kinship.

And because I know that you care for him, that you _love _him, even if he doesn't believe it, I somehow feel worse about how I've treated that child.

Will you ever forgive me, I wonder, if I told you that every scar I put on your body felt like it was being carved in my soul? Probably not. Kind as you are, I would be foolish not to recognize your faults. You are too proud, too quick to anger. You hold grudges for centuries, even if you only show it sometimes.

Ha! Does it make me a masochist if I say that you beating me half to death every year on the day of her death somehow only advances my love for you?

You know not what anger I felt towards Germany when he invaded you. What relief I felt when I was able to take you away from his control during Dunkirk. Even as that kraut hit my beautiful London with his bombs, I fought on. Not to save Europe, god no! This entire goddamn continent is diseased, Francis, from too many wars, too many betrayals, too much bloodshed. I fought for you, fair France, to win back your freedom.

It broke me entirely when I had to slit _Vichy's _throat, that monster that wore your face. As Allied forces landed on Normandy's beach, I sat in my home holding Vichy's bloodstained face. _Your _bloodstained face. Canada later told me that I was nearly delirious when he removed me from your side and forced me to sleep.

2 weeks later, when your eyes opened, I wept. You were out of sorts, so I don't know if you remember it. I don't know if I _want_ you to remember it. Because, after so much hate, so much anger, so much _death, _what difference do a few drops of salty water make? Or an ocean of them, for that matter?

Do you remember that time when we were children? How you found me on the beaches of Normandy when I had no company but my accursed brothers and my beloved fairies?

I don't believe I've ever told you this, Francis, but before you found me, I will _this_ close to snapping.

Everywhere I looked, I found disdain. My brothers, pure though their intentions might in distancing themselves from me, only made this everyday struggle worse. My own people cursed me, labeling me as a _daemon, _an evil spirit because of my eyes and my behavior. I had nowhere to run Francis, nowhere to hide from the blades that sought to cut me apart and the fire that wished to burn me alive.

Sometimes those times still haunt me. Sometimes I wake up screaming, my nails digging into my palms. If you had not found me, dear France, I know not what I would have become. And I wonder….

I am a cynic. There is no denying this truth. I am a realist. Despite being surrounded by magic, I refuse to believe in fairy tales. Everyone knows of these facts. I wonder then, would you believe me if I told you that I fell in love with you at first sight?

You seemed like an angel at that time Francis. You still do sometimes today. For who, if not an angel would save an ill-mannered child from the shouting mob? Who would keep that rude child in their home, feeding him and nurturing him despite the filthy insults his mouth spewed every day?

I know I've never said this, and I probably never will, but for that kindness, that generosity, that _love_….I am eternally grateful. The reason my tongue, so eloquent in forming words of hatred, cannot form these words is a simple one.

I fear disbelief.

You have every reason to not believe what I am saying. You have all the grounds required to mock me. You have all that you would need to shatter my heart.

I do not deal well with emotions, Francis. In my childhood, they were mere obstacles that gave my brothers more reasons to scoff at me. '_Weaknesses'_ is what I called them. Somehow, even today, they remain by that name.

And you, lovely France, are my greatest weakness.

You are my greatest weakness for I cannot tear you out or block you. You are my greatest weakness because you make me more human. You are my greatest weakness because I can never hate you. You are my greatest weakness because I could never stop loving you. You are my greatest weakness because I can never tell you how I feel. You are my greatest weakness because even if I told you…you would undoubtedly break me down. You are my greatest weakness because even if you did…my affections for you would remain unchanged.

Ha! I'm a complete and utter masochist, aren't I?

So, in this measly piece of paper, I will confess my sins. I probably won't have the guts to give it to you. Hell, I only ever began writing this shit because Matthew told me this was a good way to vent, even if it did not give me any closure whatsoever. How that child knows this, I will never know.

Once again I will say those accursed words. I love you. I always have and I always will. No matter what you do, no matter how many times you kill me, my feelings will remain unchanged. My affection for you, my loveliest weakness, will remain my only truth.

Even if I do not say this, I hope you know I'm always yours. Yours to make or break, yours to love or hate, yours to kill or give life to.

I…am simply yours.

Your _Cher_ for all eternity, _Arthur Kirkland._

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_**...Idek where the fuck that came from. One minute I am fine and the next, I'm stabbing at the laptop as if I'm trying to break it.**_

_**Anyway, I hope you like this guys! I'll be updating Sacrifice sometime soon.**_

_**Until then.**_

_**P.S.-Should I make this a two-shot?**_


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